


Rise and Fall

by Whreflections



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Complete, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They need you right now, but when they don't they'll cast you out..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Written three years ago for the Team Knight/Team Anarchy challenge over at batmanjoker on LJ

 

  
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Joker unfastened the buttons slowly, sliding the shirt off and onto the thick carpet. Kicking off his shoes he stretched out on the bed by the windows, turning to look out at the skyline of Gotham. He twitched impatiently, pulled a knife from his pocket to twirl in his hands. 

 

_He’s late. Couldn’t have been **that**  much to clean up, it was only one building._

 

And only a bank, nothing major, nothing that would have his Bat angry at him for a week, not even for a night. No, by his standards it was almost nothing, almost unnoticeable. So why was he late? He slid the blade gracefully across his skin, just short of breaking it. The steel glinted in the light from the lamp, shining beautifully. 

 

_Can never have enough knives. Have to remember to get some new ones…_

 

He rolled over, moved from tracing on his arm to tracing on one of the pillows, watching the threads part to show the stuffing beneath.

 

“Hey, I like that one.” Joker’s eyes came up to take in the image of the billionaire, his Kevlar suit already shed and locked away. The clothes he wore now were fashionable but rumpled, and Joker smirked. He had worn them the night before, for some big dinner or other. He knew, because he had come in disguise, unnoticed even by his lover. 

 

“ _Too_  bad.” he smirked wider, closed the blade and slid it to rest on his shirt on the floor. “You were late, I was bored… _your_  fault, Batsy.” He sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so  _pissy_  about the bank, a couple of  _Maroni’s_ -“

 

“Oh, shut up.” He took Joker’s chin in his hand, tilted his head back to kiss him thoroughly as he crawled onto the bed and took his place over him. Joker fell back willingly, his frame molding around the larger, more muscular man. He swept his hands down the front of his shirt, dug in his pocket for another knife. He didn’t feel like opening buttons. Bruce growled almost dangerously when he felt the blade skim his skin, but in the next moment his ruined shirt had been pushed from his shoulders and Joker’s hands were on his chest, and just as Joker had known he would, he lost the will to complain about anything. Those searching hands slid from his chest around to grasp him back, pulling him closer to the man beneath him. 

 

Bruce shifted, rested his body more fully on Joker’s. At the added pressure Joker groaned into his mouth, hips jerking up automatically to rub against his lover. He clenched his hands tighter around the other man, the hilt of the knife he still held digging into Bruce’s shoulder. Breaking the kiss, Bruce slid his hand smoothly up Joker’s arm to his wrist, clasping it firmly and pushing his hand back, slipping the knife into his own hand. 

 

Joker let him take it, willing to give it up only because he knew…  _Yes!_ He felt the bite of the cold steel against the inside of his arm and he whimpered, arched his neck in pleasure, his eyes falling shut. 

 

Bruce’s lips traveled down his cheek, pausing briefly at the scar on the left side before traveling on to rest his lips against his ear, his breath hot. “Do you want me to use it on you, hm?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

He could feel Bruce smirk, heard the soft, hard breath that was almost a laugh. He moved his hand slowly, the blade inching down his arm, the touch light, not breaking the skin. “You do, hm? You caused me a lot of trouble tonight. I’m not sure you deserve it.” 

 

His voice was teasing and Joker knew it, but he was too eager to care. They had done this before and he could remember it all too well, could almost feel the other man’s tongue lapping blood from his skin already. He squirmed at the thought, pressing as close as he could. “Do it.”

 

Bruce put a little more force behind the knife, enough to just break the skin, a tiny drop of blood seeping up at the knife point. As he did he fastened his lips over Joker’s collarbone, sucking hard. The clown gasped and arched into both the knife and his lover’s mouth, trembling with desire. “ _Yes_. Yesyesyes.” Bruce pulled back enough to look him in the eye, slide the knife down slowly, leaving a thin line of red in its wake. Their eyes still locked, he dropped the knife and took the arm in both hands, nuzzling against the other man’s wrist before he began licking at the slight trickle of blood running from the cut. “ _Fuck_ , Bat, yes, ah…” He shifted impatiently, his eyes almost rolling back in his head at the combined sting of the cut and the ecstasy of having Bruce’s tongue on his skin. 

 

It was a moment before he finished ‘cleaning’ his arm, but when he did he dropped fully on top of Joker again, his hands and lips rougher, more desperate than before. When they met in a kiss Joker could taste his own blood on Bruce’s lips and he moaned at the taste, bit into the other man’s lip to taste him as well. 

 

Their remaining clothes were shed quickly under Bruce’s hands, both men crying out as their bare skin met fully. Bruce prepared him briefly, teasing his entrance with one finger until he was whimpering continually and thrusting against his hand. Joker growled when he pulled that hand away, reaching over to fish blindly in the top drawer of the bedside table for the bottle he always kept there. 

 

Joker whined impatiently as Bruce prepared himself, his eyes fixed on the other man’s movements. “Would you just…” he panted, breath coming ragged. “Get  _on_  with it?”   
Bruce chuckled softly at his impatience before entering him in one smooth stroke, moving forward as he did to catch the clown’s cry with a kiss. Tonight their movements were forceful, strong, their embrace full of desperately grasping hands and nipping teeth. It wasn’t nearly as rough as they were sometimes, and it wasn’t nearly as tender as they had been, on occasion. It was somewhere in the middle, raw need. 

 

Joker came first, arching up to press against Bruce, legs locking tightly around his waist to hold him deep inside as the waves of pleasure shook him. Bruce wasn’t far behind, and he cried out Joker’s name as he let go, muscles in his back clenching as he pulled his lover tight against his chest. He came down from the aftershocks with his head nuzzled in the crook of Joker’s neck, slowly noticing that he was still buried inside him. And that he could taste a mixture of paint, blood, sweat and Joker that only came from moments like this. He sighed, lifted himself up on one arm to pull out and roll over on his back, arms already open in anticipation of what he knew Joker would do. The smaller man snuggled in against his side, twining their bodies together as completely as possible. He was all but purring with happiness, his body limp in utter satisfaction. 

 

Bruce brought a hand up to cup his jaw, traced his thumb across one scar. “You know Alfred hates it when we get paint all over the sheets.” 

 

“Well, then,  _someone_  should have thought of that before he jumped me, hmm?” 

 

Bruce chuckled, reached over with one arm to throw a blanket over them. “You have a point.”  
“I always do. Now  _shhh_ … time to sleep.” 

 

He fell asleep quickly, just as he always did when Bruce held him. The nervous energy only seemed to quiet enough to let him rest when he was able to wrap around the bigger man as tightly as he could. Otherwise, he slept fitfully, twitching uneasily in his sleep. Bruce had never been able to determine if it had something to do with anxiousness he had acquired from years as a criminal or if it was a long term side effect of drugs they’d kept him on, either in Arkham or elsewhere….or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Bruce much preferred to see him sleep like this, pretty much passed out, his face relaxed. 

 

The knock on the door was feather soft, and Bruce barely turned his head to look. “Hm?” He didn’t have the heart to be annoyed, even though he had asked Alfred not to interrupt them tonight. 

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s…there’s trouble.”

 

Of course there was. It was Gotham; trouble was unavoidable. Just like his urge to fix it. He sighed, nodded slowly. “Thank you, Alfred.” He rolled his shoulders, shifted to free one arm from the Joker’s grasp. He didn’t wake, only snuggled closer into Bruce’s chest with a soft hum of pleasure, arms tightening like a constricting vine. Moments like this, Bruce could feel more acutely than he would have ever believed possible, for him. After the loss of his parents he had shut himself off almost entirely from the world, and he had been certain that Rachel and Alfred were the last connections he would ever have to love, the last two people on earth he would ever be bound to. Against all odds, this undoubtedly insane clown had wormed his way into every aspect of Bruce’s life, into whatever remnants of a soul he had left. They really were two sides of the same coin, and he wasn’t sure how his life had been anything short of empty before. He only knew that right now, this was…well, it couldn’t be called right, but it was where he wanted to be, where he needed to be. 

 

And at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay here in bed with him. Still, he could never ignore the call to protect his city, certainly not for his own selfish reasons. He gripped Joker’s shoulder with his free hand, pushed back firmly. The other man started to wake, then, but he didn’t cooperate, arms tightening further, nails digging into Bruce’s skin. Bruce rolled his eyes, shoved harder. “Come on. Get off.” 

 

Joker’s eyes snapped open, green glinting brightly in the low light. “No. You’re staying with me. They get you all the time, I –“

 

“You get me all the time, too, so don’t even try that argument. Off. Now.” 

 

Joker growled, but the noise wasn’t a dangerous one, pure annoyance instead of anger. “It’s cold.” 

 

“Then I’ll throw another blanket on the bed.” Bruce gave up on shoving him, instead twisting his left arm to wrap around Joker’s wrist, prying his hand forcefully away. At first the nails dug in harder, and he could feel blood welling up in the thin cuts. He hardly noticed. Living with Joker, blood being spilled as a sign of affection was just something he had had to get used to. Bruce jerked harder on the other man’s arm, detaching it from his back and rolling a little to free his own right hand to pry Joker’s other arm off with. Both hands immediately snapped around his wrists, and Bruce sighed in frustration. “Seriously. Stop it. I don’t even know what’s going on, I have to hurry it might be-“

 

“An emergency? Oh please, it’s  _always_  an emergency. How did they ever manage before they had you?” His expression was half anger half amused grin, eyes locked with Bruce’s, hands still tight around his wrists. “They  _dealt_  with it. On their own.” 

 

“Well, that’s the reason I help them. So they don’t have to just ‘deal with it’. Let. Go.” Yanking his hands out of Joker’s slightly loosened grip he rolled over and stood up, searched on the floor a moment before finding his pants and pulling them on. “Look, I probably won’t be too long.” He turned back to the bed, pressed one hand against the window pane as he leaned over Joker. “Then I’ll be back, and you can have whatever you want. Just…stay here, and don’t get up and go bother Alfred, alright?”

 

“ _Whatever_  I want?” Joker cackled happily, rolled over onto his back to look up at Bruce. “Batsy, how sweet of you!”

 

Bruce glared. “Let me clarify. You can how however much of me and my time you want. When I get back.” 

 

“And to think I thought I had taught you to be more careful with your words.”

 

He was still giggling when Bruce leaned down further and kissed him, tongue gliding past lips that opened willingly to the intrusion. He tasted him slowly, traced the outlines of his scars. He was good at this, but it wouldn’t have mattered because almost anything he did made Joker writhe and moan for him; just so long as he was the one touching him. Bruce would have been lying to say that he didn’t love that, didn’t at least use it a little. He kissed him until he made a soft, low noise, one hand coming up to grip hopefully at his shoulder. 

 

He pulled away quickly then, turning and leaving without another word, smirking when he heard Joker mutter “tease” at his retreating form. 

 

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””

 

“What’s going on, Alfred?” He was dressed in the suit once more, his body protesting slightly at going out again so soon. 

 

Alfred turned to half face him, still half eyeing GCN news. “There’s a hostage situation at the orphanage. Recent Arkham escapee Miles Schneider is holding the kids, asking for the removal of his sentence, money, and…” Alfred faced him fully now, eyes narrowing. “To be put in contact with the Joker. Says he wants to work for him.” 

 

Bruce could feel his blood boil, and he only just managed to suppress a snarl. “Well, he isn’t. And he sure as hell isn’t meeting him either.” Who knew what Joker would do in celebration if he heard he had such an avid follower. Whatever it would be, it’d be nothing good, and Bruce was ready to prevent it at all costs. Lately, things had been relatively calm. He wasn’t about to have this idiot tip Joker off again. 

 

Ignoring anything else Alfred might have said he rushed off to reach the batpod, deep in thought. While the Joker was undoubtedly still Gotham’s largest problem besides the far-reaching mob, the terror had come down a great many notches from what the threat had been before. Completely controlling Joker was, obviously, out of the question, but he had made more progress in that area than he had honestly ever had reason to hope. As long as the man was destroying something, it seemed he could be kept pretty happy. In the beginning of all of this, he had only been able to tell Gordon he would try to control the worst of it…

 

_Joker launched himself onto Batman as soon as he stepped in the door, the momentum of it carrying them both to the concrete floor. Furious, Batman shoved him roughly off and leapt to his feet. “What the **hell**  is wrong with you? You think…you think that…” He gestured at the charred remains of the building around them, livid. “You blew up an elementary school!”_

__

 

_Joker followed his hand, took his own look around as he leaned back on his elbows on the ground. “Mmhm. It was beautiful.”_

__

 

_With a growl of rage Batman threw himself back onto the man, hands locking around his neck. Joker wasn’t fazed, reaching with his own hands to grip Batman’s hips, pull him closer. They wrestled ineffectively for a moment before Batman disengaged again, rolling off of him. “I’m not…I can’t do **this**.”_

__

 

_Joker laughed, rolling onto his side. “You…you really are even more messed up than I thought. You…” He pulled himself closer to the dark knight, gripped his chin hard. “Have already done **this** …” He kissed him hard, teeth scraping against teeth and skin. “And you liked it. And you’ll want it again. And it won’t matter to you what I’ve done or how many little brats died here today, you’re going to keep coming back. Because you can’t kill me, and so I’ll always be here. If you could kill me, eliminate the temptation….” Joker shrugged, unaffected by the thought of his own death. “ **Then**  you might have a point. But we both know you can’t, so you can stop the act. No one’s watching you here, you know. You don’t have to pretend.” _

__

 

_It wouldn’t have infuriated him quite so much if Bruce hadn’t heard the truth in it all, the horrifying fact that he was right. He lunged, pinned Joker below him again. “I know that you want this. And I know you’d be willing to give at least something up to make me agree that I won’t stop.”_

__

 

_Joker chuckled. “Not a good threat, Batsy. I already told you, it’s plain you want it too much to stop. You see, I’m holding better cards…you’re going to have to **fold**.”_

__

 

_He punched him, ignored the sickening sound his head made as it slammed back into the pavement, ignored the laughter that continued even as he punched him again. “Just because I might lose control sometimes…that’s not everything you want. You want me.” he knew it was true; he could see it in Joker’s eyes. Even if he hadn’t, it was plain, it had been from the first time had made this particular mistake, the first time they had come together in a violent mesh of tangled limbs and desperation. “If you really want me, then you’re going to have to do some things for me. Nothing’s free.”_

__

 

_“Batsy, I didn’t know you were the kind to sell-“_

__

 

_“I’m not selling. I’m saying you can’t have anything without compromise.” He had almost said ‘a relationship’, but it would have sounded absurd, even if he knew that was what they were discussing. Whatever this… **thing**  was between them, he wasn’t sure he could ever say that title out loud. _

__

 

_Joker turned serious then, eyes narrowing in a dangerous, calculating way. “What do you want?”_

__

 

_Bruce flexed his fist, his mind racing. What did he want? What could he ask for that was actually potentially possible? Joker wouldn’t stop, he knew that much. But what could he ask for that might be doable, that might give Joker an outlet for his insane games and yet keep him from causing utterly catastrophic damage? “I want you to take down the mobs. Hunt them, steal from them, burn their money, bomb them….whatever you like, play with **them**. Leave the rest of Gotham alone.” _

__

 

_Joker licked his lips, and Bruce could almost see the idea turning over in his head. “You know I can’t. that’d be too **boring**  in the long run.” _

__

 

_It was almost exactly what Bruce had known he’d say. Of course he wouldn’t give up everything, he was Joker. But even if he eased up only a little, it would be more manageable, and if Batman could control the damage mostly before it happened….well, this might could work. “No, I’m sure you can’t. But if you spent **some**  time doing it…”_

 

In the end, it had worked out as well as anything with Joker could ever be expected to work out. He toyed with the mob when he felt like not pissing Bruce off, but he did bore with it quickly, and there was never much time that went by until he was messing with the city as a whole again. Still, Batman kept him mostly in check. He did it well enough to justify hauling him back to Arkham, and he had even spoken to Gordon about the situation. He knew only the absolute basics of course, that Batman was keeping Joker in control. He wondered, sometimes, if Gordon suspected something more, if there was something in his voice when he talked about Joker that he just couldn’t hide but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think about it often. If Gordon suspected anything between them, he had said nothing and he probably never would. He was a good man, a very good man to trust. 

 

Even now, knowing they were hunting him, Bruce felt just a little better knowing it would probably be Gordon’s unit he evaded at the orphanage tonight. He slid into the batpod, mind already focused on his job. He’d get it and get out, get the man bound and leave him for the cops to deal with. With any luck he’d be out of there before they even caught on that he had slipped in, and he could be back home before sunrise. 

 

“””””””””””””””””””””

 

Everything was so much more boring when Batsy wasn’t here. He had tried to sleep, really, but without the other man’s warm body to curl up against he never slept comfortably. He had managed, before, but now that he had another option trying to sleep fitfully alone seemed pretty pointless. 

 

So, he had gotten out of bed and gone down to the kitchen, raiding the fridge for the good food Bruce kept only for his benefit. Chocolate milk on frosted flakes  _always_  tasted good; he couldn’t understand the Bat’s aversion to it. 

 

_Probably related to the way he automatically rejects anything that feels good, at least at first. Think he’s the one that needs a psych work up, heh heh._

 

The kitchen was quiet, maddeningly so, and even though Alfred could be annoying at least talking to him would have been something to do, something to hear, something to break the monotony. When he finished his cereal he drifted over to the knife drawer, leaving the bowl and spoon out on the counter. Yanking out the drawer he skimmed his hands over the blades, smiling as he pulled out one of the sharpest. There was a wooden cutting board in the top drawer, he remembered that from the last time had watched Bruce make dinner. He pulled it out, laid it on the counter and began drawing on the surface with the tip of the knife. 

 

Amusing, but the pictures lacked color, heart, and he gave up on them quickly. He had just wandered into the pantry and was inspecting the options there when Alfred came in behind him, knocking on the door to keep from startling him. Even so, Joker turned with the knife held ready, eyes wary. “Oh. It’s you. Midnight snack?” But something was off…his face was too…something Joker couldn’t identify. And that looked like blood on his hands….  
“You need to come with me.”

 

Wary, Joker edged back rather than forward. “Why?”

 

Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Look, normally I’d pretend to play along but we really don’t have time for you to act like I’m here to try to get you locked up.” He sighed, for once letting emotion bleed into his stoic features. “He’s been hurt. Severely.” 

 

Something in his chest seemed suddenly heavier, and he pushed past Alfred with a snarl, storming in the direction of the elevator. The butler just made it into the cage behind him, pulling it shut as Joker slammed the lever down, pacing as it fell. “Who? What?”

 

Alfred shook his head, eyes fixed on the blood on his own hands. “Cops, and an accident trying to escape them from what I gather.” 

 

It took far too long to reach the bottom, but Joker was out of the elevator as soon as they did, darting across the room to where Bruce lay stretched out on the ground, a dark pool of blood coloring the stone around him. There were at least two gunshot wounds that Joker could see, though due to the armor those weren’t as severe as they could have been. No, the worst part was what must have been the ‘accident’, a long, sharp metal shard jabbed under an armor plate and protruding from his side, blood dripping. His hand caught Joker’s as it skimmed close, his grip weak. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

His voice was terrifyingly weak and Joker felt his own breath come uneven, his heart racing. Something just under his ribs seemed to be clawing frantically, like a mad rat trying to gnaw its way free from a cage by chewing off its own foot. “…the hell did you  _do_? You idiot! I told you they’d turn on you, I  _told_  you they’d….dammit, stop moving!” 

 

Bruce was shifting as best he could, trying to turn to face Joker better. Joker held him still with one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping tighter around Bruce’s almost limp fingers. “Call an ambulance.” There was only a split seconds silence, but it was enough to set him off. He jerked his head to look over his shoulder, glaring at Alfred. “I said-“

 

“No, Alfred.” Bruce coughed weakly, a trickle of blood sliding from already bloodied lips. “They can’t know…don’t want them to know…” 

 

“You’re…you’re…it doesn’t matter now!”

 

“It does. Yes it does.” He swallowed, and it was plain it took almost all his effort. “Listen, I-“

 

“No.”

 

“I lo-“

 

“ _NO_! Don’t tell me anything you think I need to hear, don’t do it. Don’t.” He had never heard him say it, and he wasn’t sure what to think, wasn’t sure if there was anything to think, but he didn’t want to hear it now. 

 

_He can’t. Can’t. No. Why won’t he argue; why won’t he say it anyway? He never listens to me…_

 

Joker swiped the blood away from his lips, leaned farther over him to meet eyes that looked far too distant, far too tired. “Come on, damn it, Bats, fight me! Tell me I can’t tell you what to do!” No response. He couldn’t feel his hands, couldn’t feel anything. “Fight me!” His voice was a growl but an unfamiliar one, the tone unrecognizable even to his own ears. The beast clawing his chest reached a new frantic pitch, but even that pain seemed distanced, not his own. It was foreign, impossible. Nothing ever hurt in a way he didn’t welcome, but  _this_ … “ _Fight me!_ ”

 

Bruce’s lips parted, struggling to get something out. He couldn’t manage, and Joker could feel his last breath ghost against his thumb. Joker’s heart thumped strangely in his chest, loudly, impossibly loudly. “Bruce.” It slipped from his lips in a whisper, involuntary. He shook him, gentle at first, harder when he didn’t respond. “Say it. Say whatever you want, say it. Say it. I’ll listen. I’ll…” 

 

_Gone. He’s gone. Gone._

 

Whatever had been digging at his ribs broke through and he doubled over with the pain, his head coming to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, hands clenching into claws on the armor. 

 

Joker was never really sure it was himself screaming, but the noise was coming from somewhere. It was the cry of a wounded animal, rage and undiluted fury along with something he was sure had never felt until this moment, something he could have lived forever and never known existed and never have missed. Whether or not it was him or something else screaming, it wasn’t long before he was laughing uncontrollably, the sound ripping painfully out of his lungs. The feeling came back to his hands and he could feel the armor cutting into them, blood running down his fingers. He jerked clumsily backward, breaking his contact with the body and falling on his back on the floor, chest shaking with the force of laughter he couldn’t control. 

 

His eyes fell on Alfred, the way he moved slowly to take his place beside the body, hand reaching down to gently close his eyes, brush a hand across his forehead. The old man was crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. Even so, when he looked at Joker there was something hesitant in his eyes, something that looked ready to offer comfort. 

 

He didn’t want it, didn’t need it, and he finally broke the laughter, snarling angrily. He scrambled to his feet, red hot rage boiling in his veins. “Where?”

 

Alfred hesitated, sat back on his heels to study him. “Killing them wouldn’t have made him happy. You know that at least as well as I do. Now I know you don’t respect anything or anyone, and I’ve never liked that…but I know you loved him, in your way. And he wouldn’t-“

 

Joker darted forward, claiming the kitchen knife from where he had dropped it to grab his lover’s hand and pressed the blade to Alfred’s cheek, head held steady with his other hand. “Where.” His voice was calm, steady enough that Alfred shivered when he spoke. He wasn’t listening but he didn’t feel like arguing. He didn’t want to kill the old man, not right here, not when he knew Bruce…but he wanted his answer, and if he didn’t get it…

 

“The orphanage. But they might not still be…there.”

 

Before he finished the sentence, Joker shoved him roughly away and twirled around, disappearing. 

 

Within seconds, Alfred heard the elevator taking him back to Wayne Manor. 

 

 

"""""""""""""""""""""


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that rises doesn't always converge. Sometimes, it just plummets.

 

  
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The newspaper came down loudly on Gordon’s desk, pictures staring up at him. “This makes 14 dead cops in three days Commissioner.” The young cop looked down at Gordon, eyes anxious and on fire with the passion of his hatred. “Commissioner?”

 

Gordon sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. Yes I know.” His head was pounding, though that was the least of his troubles. Joker’s occasional games had become a fact of life for Gotham, but for a long time now there had been little severe damage. Batman had told him that he had it under control, that Joker wouldn’t be a threat any longer and that he would actually cause less trouble if they didn’t try to haul him back to Arkham. It had gone so well he had started to believe it, had been shocked to see the mob dwindled down by the madman’s actions. But now…ever since the night of the hostage situation at the orphanage Joker had been on a rampage against cops and cops alone. There were a multitude of killings, but most of them weren’t his typical impersonal rigged explosions or shootings carried about by his men. These were brutally done, almost all knife killings, ringing with the Joker’s own personal touch. Those were the facts the city saw, but it wasn’t the whole picture. Even Gordon didn’t have the whole picture, but he had pieced together a better idea than anyone else could have. 

 

Though he hadn’t seen it personally he had heard a SWAT team had come close to catching Batman three nights before, and that he had been wounded in the chase. That in itself wouldn’t have been shocking, but since that night had received no contact from the dark knight, no texts, no visits. It wasn’t right, and though he would have been worried enough anyway, that fact coupled with these killings…

 

He had long suspected something behind even the slight level of control Batman had seemed to have over the Joker and now…now it seemed he might have been right. And if these killings were reprisals, it could only mean that the city had lost their guardian. Lost him, and Gordon wouldn’t even be allowed to mourn him. 

 

“…and I told them I’d ask you.”

 

Gordon sighed, rubbed his temples. He wasn’t in the slightest sure what the young man had said. “I’m sorry, Dalton, what was that?”

 

“They want a press conference, sir. The public wants to know what’s being done to stop the Joker killings.” The boy fidgeted nervously. “Sir…what...”

 

“What are we going to do? I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.” When he had run loose on Gotham before their sole chance of catching him had relied on the Batman’s abilities and now that they didn’t have that... he wasn’t sure that they stood a chance. Joker was like smoke in the wind, a master not only of crime but escape. And this time, it seemed it wasn’t just about the game anymore, a fact likely to make him more dangerous than ever. “I’ll be at the press conference, you can tell them that. But I don’t know what we’re going to do.” 

 

“””””””””””””””””

 

“I wasn’t there…I wasn’t…I….” 

 

“That’s funny, I don’t recall telling you I cared  _where_  you were.” Joker took the man’s chin, turned his head slowly to scrutinize the man’s eyes. “You see, I really  _don’t care_  where you were or who you are…” The knife in his other hand trailed lazily across the man’s lips, almost a caress. “None of that  _matters_. The  _only_  thing that does…” He pressed an already bloody hand against the man’s chest, pushing him against the wall. “Is  _this_.” The word turned into a snarl and his hand clenched tight around the man’s badge, ripping it forcefully from his shirt and tossing it backwards to clatter on the floor. 

 

He took his time, the man’s screams echoing from the white walls of the empty room and ringing in his ears. The blood slid down the knife and over his hands, running in rivulets down his arms. It was over too quickly, and when the man stopped breathing he kept cutting for a moment, carving laughter into his chest. 

 

When he was finished he backed away panting, hands sticky with congealing blood. There were two other corpses on the floor but he ignored them, stepping over their legs as he crossed out the door and into the night. He shoved a bar across the door of the entrance into the basement of the abandoned church in the Narrows, leaving it just as he had found it…well, if you didn’t count the bodies and the red handprint on the door. 

 

He looked up absently, distracted. There had been no signal, not for a long, long time now. Still, he knew they had been in touch, he and Gordon. 

 

_Should pay him a visit soon…_

 

His gaze drifted down to his own hands, and for the first time he seemed to really notice the state of them. Well, it wasn’t a problem, but he might clean up first. Some fresh paint for his face, yes….

 

“””””””””””””””””””

 

It didn’t take him long to get back to Wayne Manor, but he didn’t take his usual entrance. They had almost always come in through the caves but he took the front door, picking the lock and slipping silently into the foyer. He saw no sign of Alfred but he didn’t let his guard down, palming a knife as he moved into the kitchen. He pulled down a glass from the cabinet and filled it in the sink, twitching nervously with his back to the doorway. 

 

When the lights flipped on he dropped the glass to shatter in the sink, whirling around to face Alfred in the doorway. The butler held a gun level in one hand, though he didn’t look as if he truly intended to use it. They were at a wordless standstill for a moment until Alfred’s eyes softened, the gun dipping just a little bit. “Thought you might come back.”

 

“I’m not staying.” 

 

“No, I didn’t believe you would.” Joker shifted left and Alfred followed him with both his eyes and the gun, focused. 

 

“Well? Going to call  _Gordon_?” Joker’s eyes were blazing, a challenge in them. Gun or not, he could probably kill Alfred before they could get here, and he knew they both knew it. Alfred had been around him long enough to understand him at least well enough for that. 

 

Alfred sighed, looked him over for a long moment before stepping back and lowering the gun, slowly. “No. And don’t make me regret it.” He looked him over again, eyebrows rising as he studied something on Joker’s head. “What the hell happened to your head?”

 

_My head?_  He reached up with his empty hand to swipe over the area Alfred was eyeing, hissing as his fingers roughly brushed an open, bloody gash. He shrugged slightly, unconcerned. Knife still held up, he edged past Alfred in the door, watching him steadily until he reached the stairs. 

 

“””””””””””””””

 

The blood came off easily under the hot water, revealing a half dozen cuts on his arms that he couldn’t even remember getting. He rummaged around in the bathroom drawers, throwing everything he encountered on the floor until he found his paint. A good deal of it had rubbed off since he had last applied it, and it felt  _so_  good to cover his face fully again. 

 

Finished, he wandered out into the bedroom, drifted magnetically toward the bed. He had come back up here the night he left to get his shirt, and he had grabbed the knife lying on top of it. The other he had forgotten in his haste but he saw it now, the tip shining from where it lay just under the bed. He picked it up slowly, studied the thin line of his own dried blood on the blade. He licked it cautiously, but dried and cold it didn’t taste the same and he let the blade fall, disinterested. 

 

There was paint on the sheets, the pillowcases especially. He sank to sit on the edge of the bed before he realized it, his body tensing as he registered Bruce’s scent. His chest constricted painfully, fingers twitching tighter around the knife hilt in his pocket. 

 

_Shouldn’t have come here. Work to do._  

 

“Hungry?” He twitched, jerked back to look in the direction of the voice. Alfred didn’t have any food, but he was holding something…

 

“What do you want?” 

 

Alfred stretched his hands out, showed that he held rubbing alcohol and a needle and thread for stitching his cuts. “You look damn awful. Since you’re here for…however long you’re going to be here, I thought-“

 

Joker leapt to his feet, glaring dangerously. “Thought you’d try to fix me up? Touching, Jeeves, but I’m not interested.”

 

Alfred’s eyes hardened, mouth thinning into a firm line. “Do you  _really_  think I’m here for  _you_? If it had been up to me I would have had you thrown back in Arkham, and no matter how much time you’ve spent here, if not for him I wouldn’t really give a damn what happens to you.” He softened a bit, the fury short lived. “But that doesn’t matter really, because he did care. And therefore, so do I. But seeing as I am  _not_  him, I would never presume to try to force anything on you. Only offer.” 

 

Joker rubbed the blade with his thumb absently, eyes still locked with the other man’s. “I don’t need your help. I don’t.” 

 

“Very well.” He nodded once, turned back toward the door, paused with his hand on it. “If you should change your mind, there’s plenty of food in the fridge and I should be around. Stay here as long as you like. I can’t imagine you’ve found anywhere else safe to rest; you look bloody exhausted.”

 

And he was. He hadn’t slept in…the very memory of the last time he  _had_  really slept made him twitch and growl, his thumb pressing into the blade until it bled. “I won’t be staying.”

 

“Very well.” 

 

 

“””””””””””””””””””””

 

Joker hummed happily as he sat back to admire his handiwork, head cocked. The new glass cover for the searchlight had been smashed, regular bulbs replaced with red. On the surface the body of a cop he had found on patrol on 17th street was tied tightly enough to stretch across the top, arranged in as bat-like a fashion as possible. The man’s head lolled sickly, eyes open, blood soaking his shirt from a slit throat. 

 

_Yes, it looks nice. Very nice. Fitting present for a man as influential as the commissioner, hehe._

 

He flipped lever to turn the light on, shining the ‘repaired’ symbol up into the night sky. Perfect.  _Now to wait…_

 

It didn’t take long. In fact, it didn’t take half as long as he’d thought. Soon, he could hear footsteps pounding up in the stairwell, and it seemed as if his luck was holding. He could only hear one man. 

 

Gordon burst out of the door with a sort of wild eyed hope, his eyes widening when he took in the symbol. He let the door swing shut with loud slam, eyes focused on the dead man on the spotlight. He shook out of the spell relative quickly, though the shock lasted long enough that the Joker had to suppress a chuckle. Gordon crossed over and slammed the lever down, eyes sweeping the roof, searching. 

 

Joker slid from the shadows seamlessly, grinning. “Expecting someone,  _Commissioner_?” Gordon swore and jerked, spun around in the direction of the voice. His hand had fallen to his gun but Joker was closer than he thought, and much quicker. A gloved hand shot out to grab his wrist in a bruising grip. Joker shook his head, tsking softly. “Now, now, now…is that any way to greet a guest, hm? Have some manners, Gordon.” 

 

“What the hell do you want?” To his credit his voice was steady, his eyes showing only the faintest trace of fear. 

 

Joker jerked the gun from his holster and slid it into one of his many coat pockets before shoving Gordon roughly back, leaning back against the bloody searchlight. “It’s not so much what I  _want_ …I’m just here to inform you that things have…changed.” 

 

“I’ve already noticed. Except this time, you haven’t even told us what we’re playing for.”

 

Joker’s gaze drifted down to meet the commissioner’s, eyes impossibly cold. “We’re not _playing_. Not anymore.”

 

For a moment, Gordon’s breath stopped. Then… “He’s…he’s dead.” Gordon’s eyes flicked to Joker’s hand, watched his fingers clench around his knife. “I had…he had told me that you…” 

 

“You knew nothing.” He spat the words out with sudden fury, pushing himself off the metal to stalk forward. “And to think, he thought he was your  _knight_. Isn’t it funny how in the end, we always kill the things we claim we love, hm?” He darted forward, caught the older man’s shirt front easily even though he moved to back away. “Were you there?”

 

Gordon swallowed hard, shook his head ever so slightly. “No. No, I wasn’t. But I heard afterward that…that he had almost been caught, that he had been injured. I’ve been waiting to hear from him, I’ve been…” he trailed off, swallowed hard again. “I didn’t want this, dammit!”

 

“Then maybe you should have blamed the real culprit to begin with instead of vilifying the one that wanted to  _save your ass_ …not that it matters. It would have come to this anyway, just like I told him it would.” He reached up almost gently with his right hand, stroked the blade of the knife against Gordon’s cheek. “You  _lawmakers_ …you’re all the same. He never fit into your world, no…not even yours. And anything that doesn’t fit, well…” He shook his head, grinning. “That can’t be tolerated.” 

 

Something like recognition flitted across Gordon’s features, and he hesitated before speaking again. “He was…I…I’m sorry.” 

 

Furious, Joker threw him to the rooftop with enough force that his head cracked against the stone. “Apologize to yourself.” 

 

_Don’t need his pity. Don’t need any of it._

 

Joker cackled, eyes glinting. “ _You’re_  the one that’s going to need it!” He dug in his pocket, pulled out five joker cards already prepared. He threw them to the ground at Gordon’s feet. “For the ones you haven’t found yet.” He whirled, ready to leave, hand gripping the ladder, then-

 

“What do you think you’re going to achieve? I want to take you alive but the majority of the men out there don’t have the same morals, certainly not after everything you’re doing now.” he could almost hear Gordon’s uncertainty, the heaviness in the air before he spoke again. “He wouldn’t have-“

 

He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence. Joker was on him, knee in his chest, blade to his throat. “ _Don’t_ , don’t tell me….don’t.” His voice shook with rage, his hands perfectly steady. After a few deep breaths, and the sight of blood welling up on Gordon’s neck from the pressure of the blade, he seemed to calm, marginally. He patted Gordon’s shoulder in such a loving manner that he could feel the commissioner shudder beneath him, driving him into another fit of laughter. “Can’t kill you  _now_ , that’d ruin everything.” 

 

He leapt back and disappeared in a whirl of coat, leaving Gordon to press a hand to the trickle of blood on his neck, sweep up the joker cards. The first four held locations, the fifth said simply:

 

**Always save the best for last…guess what you are?**  
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””

 

Everything was off in the abandoned gas station and it was cold enough that a chill was sinking in, not that he really noticed. He vaulted easily over the counter, rummaged around in drawers below. There wasn’t much that had been left, mostly old scraps of paper but he found a lighter at the back that still came on when he tested it. Pocketing that he slumped back against the wall, easing himself down to rest with his back firmly wedged in the corner. 

 

He was fairly well hidden here, and it seemed safe enough. 

 

_Can wait just a bit before going back out. Want to give Gordon enough time to follow those tips and be sufficiently horrified, heh. Just an hour or so…_

 

His eyes were locked on the door, ears straining to hear any sound approaching the building. No matter how hard he tried, though, exhaustion was catching up with him. Before he could stop it, his head was nodding back against the wall, eyes closing…

 

_He jabbed a knife into the chest of a fallen cop, watched his body jerk upward into the blade, twitching futilely. There was an oppressive silence at first as he began to carve a smile into the man’s cheeks, but it broke suddenly, horrified screams slicing through the still air. There was another man watching and he took him too, slower, rolling up his sleeves to keep them relatively clean as he did. It was over too soon and he wasn’t satisfied, wasn’t nearly…_

__

 

_His head whipped around, taking his surroundings in. This **wasn’t**  the empty warehouse he had been in moments ago. This was…_

__

 

_“Hey. Told you I wouldn’t be long.”_

__

 

_His body jerked, flipped over in Bruce’s bed to face the doorway. Joker could feel his heart thumping erratically and he scrambled backwards and off the bed, eyes wide. “You…you’re…”_

__

 

_Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly, confused. “Yes, I’m…here. What were you doing while I was gone?”_

__

 

_Joker shook his head, ran his tongue across the inside of his scars as he looked down at his arms. They were still positively bathed in the officers’ blood but if Bruce had noticed, he hadn’t said anything. “I…What?”_

__

 

_Bruce shook his head, sat down on the edge of the bed and offered a hand out to Joker where he had fallen, pulling him close. “Seriously, what **did**  you do while I was gone? I would have been willing to bet money you were going to complain about how long I was-“_

__

 

_Suddenly, Joker’s confusion didn’t matter. He launched himself at the man on the bed, straddling him and pushing him back, ignoring his interrupted sentence and devouring his lips with single minded hunger. Soft, desperate noises came from his chest involuntarily, one hand clutching vice tight against a wonderfully familiar muscular bicep, the other wrapped behind Bruce’s neck. He could feel something hot and wet at the corners of his eyes that he didn’t recognize, could feel an equally foreign weight in his chest, pressing on his lungs, impeding what breath he did take in desperate gasps._

__

 

_It was a long time before Bruce reached up and stopped him. Long, but not long enough. He whimpered at the lack of contact, strained to press forward and claim those lips again._

__

 

_“Hey…what’s wrong?” He could feel Bruce’s breath against his skin, warm and soft. His thumb reached up to brush against Joker’s cheek, streaking damp paint._

__

 

_“You…” He licked his lips, tasted Bruce on them. “Stupid dream. I blame you and your save-those-that-hate-you obsession.”_

__

 

_Bruce’s lips quirked into a smile, and he felt his chest shake once with amusement. “That’s…one I haven’t heard before, at least not in that context. Can I ask about this dream or is that off limits?”_

__

 

_“Off limits.” He lunged forward to capture the other man in a kiss again, moaning delightedly when Bruce took aggressive control of the kiss, his tongue probing Joker’s mouth. When they broke from it Joker nuzzled against his cheek, nibbled his jaw before biting once, hard and possessive. Bruce groaned, one hand coming up to tangle in Joker’s hair. “Be still.” He slithered backwards down his body, let himself fall to his knees on the floor, head resting against his lover’s thighs._

__

 

_Bruce made a low noise of approval as Joker unfastened his pants, the hand on Joker’s head entangling further in his wavy hair. He licked his lips once, anticipating the way his Batsy would taste, the way he would scream for him as he took him into his mouth._

__

 

_As Joker reached to pull the last barrier down the hand on his head went limp, the thigh his cheek pressed against cold through the fabric. He scrambled to his feet to look down on Bruce, a bloody, gaping hole in his side, eyes wide and staring but utterly lifeless._

__

 

_“ **No**.” His voice was a pained low growl, the agonizing clawing beginning somewhere just inside his ribcage. He reached for Bruce’s hand only to find the room inexplicably tilting, staggering backwards only to find that there wasn’t glass in the window, and he was falling, falling…_

 

He jerked violently awake, head crashing back to slam into the wall behind him. Immediately he was seeing stars, one hand snapping up to press against the sure-to-be rising welt on the back of his head. Slowly, he registered his racing pulse, the cold sweat that covered his body, gluing his clothes to his skin. The dream had been so real, so vivid all the way through to the ghastly end…

 

Feeling less rested than he had when he sat down he stood up and shook his arms out, rolled his shoulders to work the muscles there. It was past time to get back to work. He dropped a hand into one of his coat pockets, jostling around until he found the police radio he had stolen off one of his first victims. Twisting the knob to tune in to the conversation he leaned against the counter as he listened. 

 

For awhile the talk was inane, petty criminals, unimportant things. Still, boring as it may have been it gave him a handful of locations, one just over the bridge from the area of the Narrows he was in at the moment. Whistling as he pocketed the radio, he headed out the door. 

 

“””””””””””””””””””””””

 

When it came down to it, a lot of his work came down to luck. Luck, and really incredible timing. He had been preparing to fire on a motorcycle cop as he climbed back on his bike, but the man’s words to the cop on the bike next to him were just interesting enough to make him pause. 

 

“Yeah, Gordon said he’s gonna talk to a lot of us tomorrow night, at the MCU. Tell us the ‘plan’ about how to handle these Joker attacks.” The man laughed derisively, and Joker bit his hand to resist laughing with him. “Personally, I don’t think he’s got a ‘plan’.”

 

The other cop shook his head, grim. “Neither do I. Only thing I  _know_  needs to be done is to get that clown off the streets, dead or alive. Just like with that Batman, I hear they think he’s-“ 

 

The man’s next words cut off sharply, body slouching like a ragdoll after a bullet to the head. 

 

“”””””””””””””””””””

 

Standing before a slightly warped bathroom mirror Joker tugged on his collar, frowning when it wouldn’t lay just as he wanted it. The other man had been bigger than him and the shirt was baggy. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers can they,  _Ross_?” 

 

He kicked the cuffed man at his feet hard in the stomach as he said his name, chuckling happily at the groan that slipped his lips, muffled by the duct tape. 

 

He hadn’t bothered to lose his makeup for this, wearing the cops clothes only for the beautiful irony. He had opted for making a personal entrance over secrecy, counting on one of his men to set off the detonator he had left in a vent over the last toilet. 

 

“Aaaand  _now_ ,” He bent low enough to grab the chain between the cuffs, yanking the beaten officer to his feet. “ _Showtime_.” Pulling the radio from his pants pocket he connected, contacted his men. “Clear?”

 

“Yes, boss.”

 

He slipped the radio back into his pocket and took a knife up instead, thumbing the blade open. “ _Beautiful_.” 

 

A quick, monitored jaunt over to the back of the MCU brought him in a back entrance, two guards already dead on the floor courtesy of his goons. They came in handy but he had used them only minimally, for this. These last few jobs had been personal, his and his alone. Barely taking the time to press his ear against the door for the sounds of shuffling in the conference room he kicked the handle and burst inside, the point of the knife rammed tight into Ross’s neck.   
“Sorry to crash your little party, but I believe I should have received an invitation!” He cackled at the way the officer’s closest to the door recoiled, hands twitching for the guns but stopping at the sight of their comrade held so tightly at knife point. “I am after all, heh, wearing the right  _uniform_.” 

 

With his free hand he ripped off his own homemade name tag, threw it down at the feet of a nearby officer. The man eyed it like a viper and Joker laughed all the more. “Go on, pick it up, pick it up.  _Go on_.” 

 

He did, hands shaking slightly, and he pulled it up close to his eyes to read. “Jim…Jim Gordon.” His brown eyes blazed, scorching. “You son of a bitch.” He jerked toward Joker who let his own hand jerk in response, knife tip digging into Ross’s neck enough to draw blood.  
The men closest to him all cursed, backing away reflexively. 

 

“Heh heh heh,  _that’s_  better. Now…” He slid closer to the other side of the room, positioning himself nearer to the central point Gordon had planned to speak from. “We could all end this in a mutually satisfying way if you would, ah, hand over those responsible…” His words turned into an angry snarl, low and intense. “for the Batman.” In his mind he saw it again, the pool of blood on stone, the way Bruce’s fingers had tried to wrap around his…

 

_Stupid idiot. They’re just animals, **mindless** , worthless,_

 

“Yeah, I thought you were working with him you sick, psychopathic-“

 

“Hey!” Gordon’s voice cut through, loud and commanding enough to quiet even the other man’s fury. He wormed his way through men, coming up to take his place across from Joker. “What happened the other night was an accident. But if you blame me then blame me. I’ll go with you.” 

 

Joker twitched, drew a little more blood from his captive. “That’s not the  _deal_.” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing. “You weren’t the one.”

 

Gordon shrugged, gestured at the nametag on the floor. “Does it matter? You’ve already named me next. Whoever it was isn’t going to come forward right now anyway, you’ve got them all scared stiff. And isn’t that what you wanted, what you always want?”

 

“I want answers.” He growled, trapped Gordon with his gaze. “You’re last.”

 

_Technically, so are most of them…as long as they’re good and stay in the building, that is, hehe._

 

“What difference does the order make? Take me now, and you can keep searching later. I guarantee you, you’ll get no information out of them now.” Gordon took a step closer, tentatively. “Look, you-“

 

A gunshot cut his words short, coming from Gordon’s left to graze Ross’ left shoulder and bury itself in Joker’s. Ever one for quick reflexes he slashed the man’s throat even as his arm jerked back, but the cut wasn’t quite as deep as it should have been. A young cop with dark tanned skin darted forward, gun held out as he shot him again and again, eyes devoid of anything but ice. Even after Joker had fallen to the floor he kept shooting, emptying his gun in rage. 

 

Gordon noticed the instant chaos in the room through a sort of haze, letting the noise shift to a dull buzz in his ears as he moved to stand next the triumphant young officer, Tony Yeager. A couple of men hand lunged forward to grab Ross up off the floor, one holding a hand to the wound in his neck, another to his shoulder. A third had their phone out, dialing 911. 

 

Tony flashed a somewhat grim smile at Gordon then, the boy’s eyes shining with exuberance. “We finally got the son of a bitch. He’s really dead.” His voice was all but shaking with pride.   
Gordon nodded, swallowed back the sick feeling somewhere in his chest that reminded him just how dead anyone would be after taking that many shots to the chest. It was overkill, it was brutal, it was beneath them…but it was done, and he couldn’t bring himself to be entirely sorry. All the same…

 

Tony’s face fell a little seeing the hesitation on Gordon’s features, his forehead wrinkling a little in confusion. “Sir, we had to. I…I only did what I thought was necessary.”

 

Blood covered the stolen blue shirt on Joker’s chest from at least 6 points that Gordon could see, his head lolling against the floor, blood trailing from his lips across one scar.  _Necessary…_ He could hear the Joker’s words from two nights before ringing in his ears, telling him they weren’t playing anymore… 

 

Whatever the man’s plans had been, Gordon was equally certain he hadn’t been planning to get himself out. This had been easy, too painfully easy, and maybe Joker hadn’t expected this of them but he had to have known he was walking into a den, just like he had before when he had every intention of being taken in…

 

He had, certainly had another plan here that they would probably now never know, but whatever it had been, nothing ever happened to this man that he hadn’t in some way wanted. Even if he had intended to drag it out a little longer, the more he thought about it the more certain Gordon was that Joker had had no real expectations of making it out of the situation alive.  
As long as he had wanted to get Joker, he couldn’t seem to muster the relief this should have brought. He felt as if they had somehow lost instead of won, as if by killing this monster they had, in the end, begun to play his game. Sickened, Gordon turned away. “Congratulations.” His hand clapped lightly on the boy’s shoulder as walked away. 

 

_Over. This nightmare is finally over._

 

No matter how hard he tried to smile, it felt nothing like it should. 

 

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””  


 


End file.
